


this heavy old heart is as steady as stone

by amosanguis



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Cabbage Patch Hobbits, Fluff and Angst, Humor, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Post-Battle of Five Armies, goddammit balin, not that bilbo knows that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:00:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23674273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amosanguis/pseuds/amosanguis
Summary: Just your classic "Bilbo thinks Thorin's dead so he goes back to the Shire to plant their baby and grieve" fic. At least, until the personal raven of The King Under the Mountain arrives with a message.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield
Comments: 17
Kudos: 657





	this heavy old heart is as steady as stone

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Gone Gone Gone" by the Turnpike Troubadours

-z-

Bilbo Gardens as soon as he returns to the Shire.

He Gardens with tears in his eyes, before he’s regained his weight; he Gardens under the light of the moon, instead of under the sun – straying far, far from tradition. Not that there was anything traditional about the faunt he’s intent on growing.

Bilbo Gardens and his neighbors whisper and he pays them no mind at all.

-

After the goblins and Azog and the Eagles, there had been moments, between Bilbo and Thorin, moments in the dark when an argument turns to something else, nights when the adrenaline from the day was too much to deal with alone, half-drunken fumblings in Beorn’s garden.

Bilbo tells himself it’s just the trials of the road – it’s months of hard travel and trying to survive together; stuff like almost dying on a weekly basis tends to brings people close.

Bilbo never expects it to last.

But then the ‘Ri brothers stumble on them while Thorin in the middle of thoroughly debauching Bilbo and, instead of jumping away like he expects Thorin to, Thorin simply growls out some threat in Khuzdul that sends them all scampering away. Bilbo is torn between mortification and arousal; Thorin settles the matter by cupping Bilbo through Bilbo’s trousers, working him until Bilbo can think about nothing at all.

When they return to camp, Bilbo expects teasing and maybe some knowing looks – but nothing changes. Dori, however, does give him a little bow when he passes Bilbo a bowl of soup and it leaves Bilbo confused. He glances at Thorin, who’s just settling beside him, but Thorin says nothing about it even as he leans his body into Bilbo’s and tucks into his own soup.

That night, Thorin lays his bedroll next to Bilbo’s, pausing before settling his blankets with a look at Bilbo – waiting to see if Bilbo would object. But Bilbo, with his heart in his throat makes a ‘help yourself’ gesture.

Bilbo doesn’t sleep alone after that and they soon start taking watch together – not to touch, neither of them would be so irresponsible – but simply to stargaze or share a whispered memory.

“I love you,” Thorin whispers.

“You don’t—” Bilbo starts, but his excuse about Mirkwood and its mind tricks evaporate on his tongue when Thorin leans down and kisses him.

“I love you,” Thorin says again when Bilbo visits his cell.

And Bilbo can’t deny himself any longer, “And I you, Thorin. May Yavanna help me. I love you, too.”

“My kind love long and love hard,” Thorin says, reaching out to him.

“You are like the stone from which you’re born,” Bilbo says, his voice soft as he rolls one of Thorin’s braids between his fingers. “I would not expect anything less.”

Thorin turns and presses his face into Bilbo’s palm, closing his eyes at Bilbo’s touch.

Thorin’s eyes dance with madness and still, with everything, he grips Bilbo, holds him close. And Bilbo, just as before, or maybe even moreso now, cannot refuse Thorin anything. They kiss wet and sloppy, fucking in the shadow of the fire- and gold-light.

Bilbo waits until Thorin falls asleep before he lets himself break – thinking of the weight of the Arkenstone sitting in his coat like the heavy lie that it is.

Bilbo hears only the word “banished” and “liar” and “throw him from the ramparts” – and it’s the last thing Thorin ever says to him that day or the next until—

Bilbo hears that Thorin falls in battle and he loses all hope of explaining himself to Thorin, all dreams of reconciliation and maybe that promised life at Thorin’s side here in Erebor.

“The King will be returned to the mountain,” Balin says, his words obviously weighing heavy on him. He waits until Bilbo meets his eyes, “He broke through the madness before the battle. Said he would wish to undo all ill he committed against you.”

Bilbo feels his tears and turns away, all of it too much as he says, “Were that the past could so easily be undone.” And he doesn’t see the way Balin’s face falls in despair.

-

Bilbo greets his new faunt under the no-light of a new moon. He’s laughing even as he sobs, filled with ecstasy even as he feels his heart being shredded into even smaller pieces – the faunt looks so much like Thorin.

“Oh, my darling,” Bilbo murmurs, cradling his newborn. “Oh, my sweet. My beautiful.”

The faunt names himself Brurin and while Bilbo can hear the Dwarfishness of it, he doesn’t argue and simply wipes dirt from the boy’s face and says,

“A lovely name. A lovely name indeed.”

Bilbo does his best.

He tries to let time heal his wounds, though he fears that, when the nights are long and he picks at himself and his memories, he’ll never truly recover. It’s something he’s accepted.

He raises his faunt with as much love as he can and, when it’s appropriate, tells the faunt all about his other parent – tells the tale of journey, censoring it as needed, of course – and promises Brurin that Thorin would have loved him very much.

“Maybe I can meet the others?” Brurin asks.

“Maybe one day,” Bilbo says, not quite able to bring himself to make any promises and loathe to outright deny his son something like this.

When Bilbo takes in Frodo, it’s harder for his suffering to find him. Instead, he pulls his love for his two faunts tight around himself.

It’s a beautiful summer day – the sky was blue and cloudless, a gentle breeze was coming in through the open windows carrying on it the scent of flowers and the sounds of laughter and birdsong, and Bilbo hadn’t cried at all when he thought of Thorin that week (progress!) – when Bilbo finds a stack of his letters, written but never sent, to the Company.

Before he can change his mind, he glances over them all once more. He adds post-scripts that explain his previous lack of courage at sending these out, along with notes on Brurin and Frodo and how they’ve distracted him these past two years from his broken heart. He wishes them all well and pleads with them to visit.

He never expects, several months later, the raven who identifies himself as Luk, son of Roäc and personal raven to the King Under the Mountain.

“You serve the King himself?” Bilbo questions. “How fares my dear Fíli?”

Luk shakes his head and fluffs his feathers and says, “It is not Fíli who rules, but Thorin Oakenshield—”

Bilbo feels his stomach fall down to his feet, hears one of the faunts gasp behind him.

“—and it is Thorin Oakenshield who wishes that this message be delivered: _I am not dead though Balin may soon be. Behind this raven is to follow an escort of dwarves to bring you to Erebor should you wish to save Balin’s life._ So says the King. Have you any reply?”

Bilbo can hardly speak for the force of his emotions gripping his lungs, squeezing tight his chest and throat. Somehow, he manages to say—

“Tell him: _I shall meet the escort_ ,” Bilbo smirks and can’t stop himself from adding, “ _Don’t kill Balin before he has the chance to meet our son._ ”

As soon as Luk departs, Bilbo begins preparing Bag End for an extended absence.

The “escort” Thorin sends is in fact a small army, led by Dwalin himself.

“If we had known,” Dwalin says into Bilbo’s shoulder, “if we had known what you thought—well. We never would’ve let you go.”

Bilbo pulls out of the hug, wiping his eyes before he says, “I would have had to come back to the Shire regardless.” He turns and picks up Brurin, bouncing the young faunt who was staring wide-eyed and curious up at Balin. “Mountain soil would have been no good for growing a Hobbit, even if he is half-dwarf.”

Balin is equal parts confused at “growing a Hobbit” as he is delighted at “half-dwarf” – see-sawing obviously between the two before finally simply leaning forward and cooing nonsense at the faunt, not even flinching when Brurin tugs at his beard. Balin’s eyes then get impossibly wider as soon as he spots Frodo.

“Oh, by my beard, there’s _two_.”

“A cousin,” Bilbo says, motioning Frodo closer. “This is Frodo, he’s under my care.”

Balin laughs and he scoops Frodo up himself, Frodo squealing in delight.

The journey east this time is far less eventful and there are frequent ravens from Thorin checking on their progress. Bilbo gets to know Luk well.

In exchange for looking after Bag End for him, Bilbo offers Hamfast Gamgee the chance to take Sam to see the elves for him. Hamfast had excitedly agreed, saying that it’d mean the world to Sam – and Sam himself had nearly fainted even as Frodo bounced around, happy his friend was coming along. As word got out that Bilbo was taking Samwise, Bilbo soon found himself with Merry and Pippin as well.

“It’s good,” Dwalin says, “children should always travel in groups.”

“Oh?” Bilbo asks with a smirk. “Is that why we let _both_ Fíli and Kíli come along on our own adventure?”

Dwalin guffaws.

Bilbo laughs himself before he asks, “Pardon me, but I didn’t think you knew much of children?”

Dwalin waves away the apology and explains readily that dwarf children were, not necessarily _rare_ , families often sought two or three children or even four if they could, but the pregnancies were long. They just took their time, so, when there was a child about, they were an excitement all indulged in.

“All children of Aulë take their time, I suspect,” Bilbo says, his smile soft as he looks ahead.

Elrond delights in the young faunts and insists Bilbo and the escort-slash-army rest themselves for a time in Rivendell. Bilbo knows that Elrond’s own child has long been grown and finds he can’t deny the elf lord, though he effectively negotiates Elrond’s proposed _several weeks_ down to _one_ _week_.

“You will make a shrewd diplomat,” Elrond says and Bilbo beams at the compliment and studiously doesn’t think about what role might await him in Erebor.

-

“I would have you rule beside me,” Thorin says, his eyes shining in the firelight of Lake Town’s torches, the sounds of celebration were dampened by the way Bilbo finds himself so wholly focused on Thorin.

“You make a lot of promises,” Bilbo says, smirking to lessen his words, “while a dragon still sits in your kingdom.”

Thorin shrugs.

“I would dress you in the finest jewels—”

Bilbo stops Thorin with a hand over his mouth, “You will do no such thing,” he says. “I will be your consort, yes, but so help me, Thorin Oakenshield, you will _not_ be dressing me like a dwarf. I am a _hobbit_ and I quite enjoy being one.”

Something like mischief sparks in Thorin’s eyes as he pulls Bilbo’s hand from his mouth and leans in. “We’ll see about that,” he growls playfully before he covers Bilbo’s body with his own, and then they’re rolling and tumbling like younglings, only just barely stopping themselves from falling into the lake.

“Would you really do it?” Thorin asks, just before they fall asleep. “Would you really stay with me in Erebor?”

Bilbo forces his eyes open.

“Of course,” he answers, reaching up to press a palm to the side of Thorin’s face. “I’ll still want to visit the Shire – maybe every other winter or so – I have kin I could not so easily leave. And while Bag End may not be quite the home to me it was when I left it, it is still special to me and I am not ready to part with it.”

Thorin sighs, as if greatly put upon, and says, “Only if you must.” Then he smiles and presses a kiss to Bilbo’s temple.

And it’s the last gentle thing that passes between them for days (and then years).

-

An elf meets them at the edge of Mirkwood to pass along Thranduil’s regards to Bilbo which Bilbo accepts with a blush and a bow. The blush deepens when Bilbo realizes the elf is no other than the Keeper of the Keys Bilbo had robbed all that time ago.

Mirkwood is a great deal nicer than it had been the last Bilbo had passed through. The paths clearer, the trees greener. Bilbo even thinks he catches the sight of a white stag out of the corner of his eye, but it’s gone before he can turn to see.

Bilbo doesn’t know how he could’ve forgotten a certain dwarf’s impatience, but still, seeing him encamped just outside of Mirkwood, waiting for Bilbo, it makes Bilbo break rank, kicking his pony into a gallop before—

“Bilbo, what’re—" Dwalin shouts.

—Bilbo lunges from his pony’s back and right into Thorin’s arms, the two of them falling into the grass, laughing as they roll, crying as they kiss, desperate to make up for so much lost time.

-z-

End.


End file.
